


Unfinished

by lodessa



Category: Angel: the Series, Jossverse
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-27
Updated: 2006-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 04:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodessa/pseuds/lodessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In light of what happens upon their return from Pylea, Wesley has to face what happened when he was in Sunnydale two years before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished

It is to be expected that, after returning from a hell dimension like Pylea, the world as Wesley Wyndam-Price knew it looked better, that he appreciated it more. However, it was not the case. The world as he knew it was filled with just as much catastrophe as it always had been. In fact, things might have been worse. The moment they had walked back into the hotel and seen Willow, the brilliance of the initial return was lost and things only got worse from there.

It is a misnomer that familiarity breeds comfort in all things. Some things one can never get accustomed to, no matter how many times one experiences them. Death is one of those things. Wesley had been aware of death from an early age. At the Watchers Academy it was a given that one would experience death and loss. Sacrifices had to be made for the good of mankind. Should one actually be lucky enough to be assigned to a Slayer, chances are that she would die in the first few months. There had been seminars on the topic, one that Wesley, at the time, had thought to be a waste of resources. He still thought they had been a waste, but for different reasons now.

All the things they had to say about the death of one's Slayer were absolutely no comfort when faced with the real thing. Talk of grander purposes could never truly solace a wounded heart. Wesley realized that he probably shouldn't have been surprised to find the Council's advice of dealing with a Slayer's death unhelpful, considering that their recommendations about what to do when one's Slayer crossed the line and went bad had been not just useless but actually detrimental. He was not prepared for how hard it was, though.

Buffy had never really been his Slayer, even when the council had put him in charge of her. Still he could not help feeling that there must have been something he could have done; maybe, if they hadn't been in Pylea in the first place, or if he'd stayed around Sunnydale and helped even after the council had sacked him and Buffy had sacked the council. He should have been stronger; he should have insisted on proper training even when she rebelled. No, maybe that wasn't it at all; maybe he shouldn't have alienated her, should have thrown the rule books out and realized earlier that the Watcher's Handbook was extremely out of touch with the reality of mentoring a real Slayer.

The truth was that Buffy hadn't had any use for him; the painful break in Giles' voice, when Wesley called him to offer his condolences, spoke the truth about the situation far more than the Council's records. No, it was the darker child of the wise men that Wesley knew he had had failed. Faith. It was an ironic name for a girl who was desperately without trust in anything or anyone. She had been in need of a Watcher, of someone she was the priority for, someone who wouldn't go away. Her tough exterior had deceived him though, and he'd pushed her too hard and in all the wrong ways. He had turned an accident into a murder, and a rebel into a villain.

If he had made better decisions regarding Faith, she could have been there and turned the tide of things with Glorificus, Wesley inevitably got to thinking. Two Slayers had been an unprecedented gift, a gift that had been wasted as they turned on each other and against the Council. Faith was in prison now, of her own free will, and instead of two Slayers the world had none.

Though Faith's incarceration was the right thing of course, it was a constant reminder that she was paying, in part, for his failed attempt to teach her. He had nothing to do with her recovery and progress. He ought to have been the one to turn things around, to guide her, and provide her the mentorship that he had trained his whole life to be ready for. He might have been able to forgive himself, and feel like he'd made up for his mistakes, if he'd been the one to bring Faith back from the darkness. But he wasn't. It was Angel who had showed her the path back to redemption, of course. Who else could know better what it was like to live righteously after great sin?

For Wesley, the worst part about Buffy's death, at least initially, was what it did to Angel. Is goes without saying that Angel was going through the same process of blaming himself for Buffy's death, but for him the pain of her actual loss was something unprecedented. To Wesley, she was a noble warrior and a fellow human being. For Angel, she was far more. Though he never said so, Angel's hopes of redemption were linked to Buffy's existence; to the desire that maybe someday he could make himself worthy enough that there could be a way for them to be together. In light of her demise, any achievements Angel had made must have tasted of ashes.

Angel was doing that thing where he looked at the ground incessantly, "I need to take off for a while, Wes. I…"

"I understand. Of course…" Angel didn't have to say why he was going away. Wesley knew.

"I feel bad about leaving now. Fred…"

"We'll look after her."

"Thanks," the words came out of Angel's mouth but Angel's mind was far away, "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I know," was Wesley's automatic reply, "Don't worry about us. We'll be perfectly alright while you're gone."

What he perhaps meant to say was: I trust in you implicitly. Wesley was not particularly good with reassurance of those dear to him. This is not uncommon among people whose parents never gave them an example to base supportive behavior on; although, Wesley never made the logical connection.

"Of course you will. Not like I've been much use around here lately." Angel replied in a way that made Wesley feel like he was talking to someone else entirely. Still he worried that Angel might think he'd been shooing him away, wishing him gone.

"Oh. Angel. I didn't mean we wanted you to go, just that, you know, we can make do." Wesley tried to explain; although, he was perfectly aware that Angel wasn't really paying any attention to their discourse. His mind was on Buffy, on what he had lost and not what was there, not on Wesley.

"Well it's not like I thought… Anyway, goodbye Wes." His eyes looked right past Wesley, but Wesley wasn't sure at what.

Part of Wesley was relieved that Angel was leaving, was seeking help elsewhere; the way Angel had been wandering about in a daze made Wesley feel like he had been the one to die and Wesley didn't know how to help. Really Wesley felt pretty powerless when it came to making a difference in anyone's life, but it was especially frustrating to feel like Angel couldn't even see that Wesley was trying, that he wanted to make Angel's pain subside. It was like he didn't even exist.

It was a slow night: Angel had been gone for 43 days, and Gunn was out, getting more tacos to bring up to Fred. Wesley was supposedly doing research, but instead he was remembering things years past. After Angel left, Wesley had been spending most of his time thinking about Angel, about Buffy's death, about the time he'd spent in Sunnydale.

Tonight it was Cordelia, younger and less noble. Now she was a colleague, a friend even, but at the time she'd been irresistible. Giles had laughed at him, and Wesley couldn't help laughing as well in retrospect.

It was more than thinking, Wesley couldn't seen to get the memories of his short stint as a Watcher out of his head, and found himself replaying them over and over. At the time, Sunnydale had been disorienting, but hindsight generally proves quite different than the experience itself.

There weren't nearly enough traditions and rituals in Wesley's current life to suit his temperament and upbringing. In Sunnydale he'd still had relative order in his life. He'd had the council and all their guidelines, false but reassuring. Buffy had valued tradition in her own way, despite how disrespectful of traditions that didn't suit her she could be. Prom was a shallow tradition but it was a tradition none the less.

Remembering how the apocalypse had been coming, but they'd all taken time off to observe tradition in the form of a dance, where he'd exposed his juvenile infatuation with Cordelia. Wesley had to admit that there had still been some boy left in him at the time. He hadn't realized it naturally, one never does until later, but he had been lucky that Giles had been there to be a real adult while he was only pretending.

Sunnydale might be on the Hellmouth, but there was a freshness there that Los Angeles was far too jaded for. It was more than LA though. They had changed as well. Wesley had to consider the possibility that it wasn't just the surroundings. Buffy's death had seen to that.

Wesley watched Cordelia massage her temples, as she pored over financial paperwork. It was hard to believe that it had been only a little over two years. The woman in front of him; she wasn't the girl he'd known then, but then again he'd changed too. His sleeves were uncuffed, his dialect changing, and Wesley worked for a vampire instead of the Council. The biggest changes are the ones one cannot see. It was not just that Wesley worked with Angel; he'd worked with a lot of people. It was the way that Angel loomed over his life, and the way that 43 days and 16 hours still felt like waiting, no matter how many evil things they killed in the interim.

Things weren't the same back in Sunnydale as they'd been when he left. It had been easy, to imagine that they were. That the changes in his life where the result of his decision to move to LA, and not inevitable and out of his control. As long as Buffy was still fighting the good fight back in Sunnydale, denial had been simple. Now she was dead; change had been inevitable.

Wesley recalled that Buffy had called her stake Mr. Pointy, and he wondered if she'd been buried with one. He wondered what the funeral had been like. Had it been open casket?

"Mr. Pointy, was that a pop culture reference?" he said aloud, but mostly to himself.

"Hardly. Buffy got it from Kendra the Crazy." Cordelia scoffed.

"A vampire?"

"Faith's predecessor, Drusilla killed her."

Of course, Kendra's calling had rocked the foundation of the Council. It went against all precedent… and then Wesley realized that he'd heard not even a whisper about a new slayer being called, in the month or so since Buffy's second death. Wesley hadn't even realized he was expecting the triumphant return of the Council's power with the calling of a fresh Slayer. The Council was nothing to him now, Wesley tried telling himself, but he found himself searching the underworld for information on the new Slayer or the Council's latest movements. There wasn't anything though. No talk of Buffy's death, or a new Chosen One, or anything at all on the subject.

That was when Wesley started doing what he did best: research. He searched every text in his possession and expended a considerable amount of his resources trying to understand the way that the Wise Men's spell had worked, and if there really wasn't going to be another Slayer. In the end he came to the same conclusion, over and over again. As far as the Slayer magic was concerned, Buffy had died 3 years before, and Faith was the Slayer. There would be no one else chosen, as long as Faith was alive.

Faith. Wesley had looked in on her when she was in a coma, back in Sunnydale. At the time he'd been afraid she'd miraculously wake up. If she woke up and saw him, Wesley had been sure she would have killed him. So he hadn't stayed long, just long enough to observe the pallor of her complexion and the deep bruising that marred her face. She had looked like a corpse.

Wesley imagined that a number of people, particularly the Watcher's Council, wanted Faith dead now. People had always wanted Faith dead, but this time it wasn't something that she had brought upon herself. Angel and Wesley didn't exactly talk about Faith, but he had heard Angel talking with Cordelia about it. Cordy had thought he was insane to be visiting the girl who'd tried to kill him, attempted to turn him into Angelus again, and betrayed his beloved Buffy. Angel claimed that there was no one who more needed his help than Faith, if he wasn't going to, who in the world possibly would? Cordy had snapped that she thought they were helping the helpless, and Angel had given that long suffering sigh that meant that he was 250 years old and knew things they couldn't possibly comprehend.

Right then, Cordelia collapsed on the floor, and the next thing Wesley knew, he and Gunn were in the sewers, fighting something big and ugly.

Wesley tried to focus on the present, but instead he started remembering the argument that he'd had with Angel, back in Sunnydale, about how to handle Faith.

"You really are a moron," Angel had told him in exasperation, the disgust had been palpable, "If you hadn't interfered we could have reached her and now it's going to be pretty much impossible. God I hate you nosy intellectual types, always thinking you know best, when really you're more harmful than helpful…"

He had bristled with affronted pride, "I cannot believe you have the nerve to judge me, Angelus. I am her watcher. It's my responsibility to do the right thing, and while someone of your patchy history may think they these things are negotiable; it is my job to make sure that they are not. There is a moral code that human beings live by, even if you do not."

Angel had given him such a look of disdain that he had started to question himself and he'd had to remind himself that this was Angelus, the monster with the face of an angel. That face made it hard to remember what he truly was. So Wesley had looked away, and then he had almost been able to see the horrible distortion of the vampire feeding face. It was more comfortable in a strange way, safer.

 

He had been such a fool, an insufferable fool. Angel had forgiven him though, just like Angel had forgiven Faith. In point of fact, the only person Angel had not forgiven… was Angel.

That was a sobering thought. Pain. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Gunn yelled, pushing Wesley out of the path of a tentacle.

This had gone on long enough. The phrase for what Wesley needed to do is face one's demons. In Wesley's case, it wasn't demons that he had been avoiding however. What Wesley needed to face was a beautiful young woman. It was time to tell her that he was sorry. Wesley practiced phrasing for what to say to Faith in front of the mirror dozens of times before he could bring himself to go out to the prison. He wasn't surprised when Faith refused to see him the first time he went to visit her. All things considered, it was probably a good sign that she didn't want to take all her well deserved anger out on him, when the opportunity presented itself.

But he kept trying and eventually Faith agreed to see him. It was the middle of summer and stiflingly hot as the prison guards led her out. Her face was stripped of the garish makeup she'd always worn in Sunnydale, the orange prison jumpsuit was a good color on no one, but somehow she looked more commanding than she had before. Wesley didn't realize it, until later, but it was the calm that made the difference.

Faith sat down across from him, and Wesley didn't know what to say. She wasn't helping either, just sitting across the cheap dirty table, scrutinizing him. Finally he cleared his throat and awkwardly started, "You know about what's happened don't you?"

"You mean that B bit the dust?" Faith replied bluntly, "Or is there some other catastrophe you think I should know about?"

"Listen Faith, I know we didn't part on the best of terms…"

"You had them cage me like an animal," Faith retorted, both of them looked around at their surroundings with an awareness of the irony.

"I did, and I was wrong in my approach." Wesley conceded, "Which is why I am here."

Faith laughed scornfully, "You're here because you want me to follow B's good example and off myself. Or maybe you're going to give me some help with it. Gee, Wesley, didn't realize you watcher types were actually idiotic enough to think I wouldn't know why they sent you, after your buddies failed."

"Hold on a moment, Faith. I'm not part of the Watcher's Council any longer."

"You're trying to tell me you quit?" Faith's hands were on either side of the table, and Wesley had a momentary vision of her throwing it at him.

"No." Wesley confessed, "They fired me."

"Guess that was my fault, right?" she says, leaning back.

"It was mine." Wesley stated, hoping his carefully chosen words wouldn't fail like all of his previous plans regarding Faith, "At the time perhaps, I might have blamed you, but the last few years have changed me as well. I'm not the man I was, and I now see that the Council, while well intentioned, is severely misguided on a number of issues."

"Issues like yours truly." Faith almost seemed to chuckle.

"As one example, yes."

"And this new worldview of yours, you sure it doesn't involve me dead in some ditch for the good of humanity?"

"Positive." Wesley sounded more resolute than he could possibly have felt. The world might have been better off with a Slayer that wasn't behind bars after going on a killing spree, but Wesley wasn't about to say it ought to be that way.

"Why are you here then? Isn't there evil you could be fighting or some shit?"

"Evil will still be there when I get back this afternoon. I'm here because I should have stood by you, and now it's too late, but I wanted to let you know…."

"…That you were wrong," Faith finished

"Why yes…"

"And you want us to be five by five…" Sitting in a chair she could crush with her own hands, Faith had the look of a lion in a hyena cage. Wesley wondered if coming hadn't been a mistake.

"I wouldn't dare presume…" Wesley began, but he could have sworn that Faith was.

"Chill out Wesley, it's over and done with."

"Five by… five?"

"Five by five."

Faith said it in such a way that she could have been laughing at him, but Wesley felt relived, as those who've put off a relatively simple task until it weighs heavy on their soul tend to, when they finally do whatever they've been avoiding and it proves easier than the anxiety they had over it would warrant.

Wesley knew it was Cordelia before he answered his cell phone; there weren't exactly a lot of people who called him. A small piece of him half hoped to hear Angel had returned, but she started giving him directions without prologue, and hung up before Wesley had a chance to ask her about the tremor in her voice. There wasn't any time to dwell on this though; evil wasn't going to take a break so that he could.

When he hung up the phone, Faith was watching him appraisingly, "You know, when I heard you were working for Angel, I couldn't believe it." She told him, with a nod, "But now I get it. You need him. Let me tell you a secret, though. They need us too."

"Who do?"

"The heroes. Angel, B, every last one of them, needs someone to remind them ..."

While hacking away at the revolting demon, Cordelia had directed him and Gunn to, Wesley was barely aware of his surroundings; sometimes things have to get worse in order to get better. The past flared up more strongly than before, and he kept seeing the look on Faith's face earlier that day when she'd asked him, "So what finally got old B?" and he'd had to tell her that there was no giant demon or super vampire, or that there was a definite big bad, a hell god of indescribable power and evil, but it hadn't been her blows that had ended Buffy's life.

Faith had seemed eager, and slightly envious, during Wesley's explanation about what Glorificus was and what she had wanted, but when Wesley spoke about Buffy's throwing herself into the portal and ending her own life to save her mystically created little sister, her whole demeanor changed.

"Buffy always did have a sort of Jesus mentality." Faith tried to joke, but she'd looked honestly shaken.

Wesley managed to duck, just in time to avoid demon in the face. With both slayers out of commission, and Angel grieving, he couldn't afford to be oblivious in battle. He hacked off another appendage, he wasn't exactly sure what to call it, and it went flying over Gunn's head.

"Hey, watch it! Do you know how hard demon goo is to get out of clothes?" Gunn half joked.

"Extremely." Wesley replied, as he plunged his scimitar into the demon's chest, to the hilt. The revolting thing finally collapsed and Wesley stepped carefully around it, "Let's get started on trying, don't you say?"

Gunn shook his head with a small laugh and they headed out of the sewers and into the light, both physically and metaphorically. Finally emerging from his feverish reminiscing, Wesley could only hope Angel was making similar progress. If death was one of those things one could not get accustomed do, indulging in self-loathing was one ought not to. Wesley thought he'd finally found the words he'd been lacking earlier. Had Angel been there, perhaps Wesley wouldn't have said them, but at least he knew what they were.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Wesley heard Faith chuckle, and he hoped she was right.


End file.
